


secrets safe with me

by isostatic



Series: flip zimmerman one shots [3]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Black Reader, Black!Reader - Freeform, F/M, Flirting, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing, Undercover, Young Flip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isostatic/pseuds/isostatic
Summary: Flip’s first undercover investigation alone doesn’t exactly go to plan when you see straight through his lies and threaten to blow his cover. Though something about the way you’re looking at him makes him think he knows just how to keep you quiet. His first night undercover is one he’ll never forget, that’s for sure.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Black!Reader, Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Series: flip zimmerman one shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795702
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	secrets safe with me

**Author's Note:**

> few things in this world are certain, but one thing i know for sure is that i will be writing/reading/thinking about flip zimmerman till the end of days. wrote this piece because i started wondering how flip might have started building up this reputation for himself as a bit of a ladies man around the station. i've left this one shot open for a follow up so watch this space for a potential sequel in the future !! as always, enjoy and let me know what you think in the comments :)

If there was one thing Flip had learnt in his short time as a detective, it was to trust his instincts. And right now, his instincts are telling him to _get the hell out of this place_. From the quick glance he’d taken over his shoulder, he’s one of maybe two or three white guys in the bar, the rest scattered amongst a diverse crowd while he sits alone. It’s hardly surprising, given the side of town he’s on. Maybe if the Chief stopped dragging his heels with that damn diversity initiative there’d actually be an officer who could blend in working this case, and he wouldn’t have to be the one sat there sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s not lost on him that he must look suspicious. From the size of the bar, and the looks he’d gotten when he walked in, he can guess its mainly regulars in tonight. He can practically feel their glares boring into the back of his skull at he sits hunched over the counter. It was a stupid place to sit, he realises now, with his back turned to the crowd. He wants nothing more than to get up and leave. Dart right outside to Jimmy’s car and drive the hell away, but that would only make him look more suspicious. He’s barely finished his first drink, still clutching the bottle between his large fingers. He’d have to stay at least another hour for it to look like a casual visit.

“Long day at work?”

The sound of your voice snaps him out of his daydream. You’re cleaning one of the glasses in your hand with a rag, an amused smile on your face as you look at him. Your umber skin is painted in the faintest yellow glow from old lights that hang from the ceiling. A mane of dark curls surrounds your face, fall to your bare shoulders, two thin straps holding up the low-cut top that clings to your shape. The bead bracelet on your wrist clinks against the glass as you clean it, seeming to look right through him from under your thick lashes, the slightest hint of shimmer on your eyelids. Your shapely lips bear the faintest hue of red, your lipstick all but faded from your long shift behind the bar. If he hadn’t already been nervous, the sight of you would have been enough to make him.

“Something like that.” He tries to keep the defensiveness out of his tone. “Why’d you ask?”

He takes a final swig of the beer in his hand, feels it bubble on the way down, hopes it’ll calm him once it settles. Normally, a pretty face like yours might have soothed his nerves, given him something to focus on. But he can’t help but feel more on edge around you. There’s something about your smile that makes him wonder if you know something he doesn’t.

“You look real tense is all,” you answer, that same amused smirk on your face as you watch him. “Like you could use another drink.”

He’s sure you’re just trying to convince him into spending more money, but he can’t help the paranoia that creeps up on him, makes your words seem like an accusation. There’s sweat beading at the back of his neck.

“I’ll take another beer.” He nods in defeat.

You bend down to retrieve a bottle from the small fridge under the counter. He can’t seem to drag his eyes away from you as you bend, the hem of your skirt riding dangerously high up the back of your thick thighs. If you were to bend any further, he might have caught the slightest glimpse of your ass. The thought makes him lick his lips.

“See something you like?” You call over your shoulder, straightening up and turning to face him.

He averts his eyes quickly away from you, cheeks beginning to grow hot with embarrassment. He clears his throat.

“I didn’t say I minded.” Your voice is sultry as you speak.

You didn’t mind _at all_. You’d grown so accustomed to the regulars that you welcomed any attention cast your way from the handsome stranger. He wasn’t like anyone you’d seen in the bar before, with his jaw-length dark hair, goatee and moustache. He looked like he belonged in one of the hippie bars across town, not here in your bar. Even from his seated position behind the counter, you could tell he must have been tall, his broad shoulders and large frame making him unmissable. He had a pensive look to him, his dark deep-set eyes seeming to watch your every move. Every word spoken in his smooth, deep voice felt calculated and pre-planned.

“So,” you lean your elbows on the counter, rest your chin on your hands as you stare at him. “You gotta name or am I gonna have to make one up for you?”

You know exactly what you’re doing as you look at him, your cleavage on full show as you rest your chest on the counters edge. There’s a knowing smile on his lips as his dark eyes pour over you slowly, take their time appreciating the sight before him.

“You can call me Brian,” he answers coolly.

“ _Brian_?” You scoff, letting out a giggle.

“What’s wrong with Brian?” He feigns offence at your distaste to his chosen cover.

If he was honest, he wasn’t a huge fan of the name, but it was popular enough that he could hide behind it without raising any eyebrows. Least it had been until now. He can’t take his eyes off you as you watch him, brown eyes pouring over every detail of his face, that same smile still painted across your lips. He watches you take a sip of your drink, some kind of mojito judging from the leaves floating around inside your glass.

“You’re _far_ too sexy to be a Brian,” you bite your lip.

The forwardness of you comment makes his dark eyebrows raise above his eyes, his previously stoic expression shifting into amusement as he chuckles. His lips pull into a smile, the kind that reaches all the way to his eyes, shifts his face into a less intimidating arrangement. The faintest hint of a blush blooms across his pale cheeks as he thinks of the wire strapped to his chest, of Jimmy hearing your comments from the car outside. Not that he was complaining, of course, if the wire weren’t there, maybe he’d have said something a little more daring back.

“You must be new to this, huh?” You muse.

His brows pull together above his eyes. “New to what?”

“You know…” you lean a little further over the counter until there’s only a few inches between your noses. “…the whole being undercover thing. You’re not very subtle.”

He feels his heart stop dead in his chest. Suddenly that feeling in his gut made sense. He’d been made. He has to fight against his instinct to bolt for the nearest exit, has to force himself to remember the advice the other guys at the station had given him on what to do if your cover was blown. It comes back to him in fragments. He never thought he’d need it. His eyes flit quickly to his surroundings, there’s another two guys sat at the other end of the bar, but they’re too far to be within ear shot. He can feel the collar of his shirt growing damp, sweat running down the back of his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words are nowhere near as convincing as he needs them to be. You roll your eyes, leaning back up from the counter, crossing your arms across your chest. Even in his panic, he’s disappointed he’s lost the view.

“C’mon _Brian_ , I’m not stupid. I can see right through you. You can’t sit still, keep looking over your shoulder… and you damn near shit yourself when I asked you about work.” You laugh then, and even though he likes the way your smile lights up your face, he can’t fight the building dread in the pit of his stomach. “Besides, we don’t get many guys in here that aren’t locals. And you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

He wonders if Jimmy can hear everything you’re saying through the receiver, if he’s hatching a plan to come and save him. He’d provided him with an out a few times before, but that was always when he’d had someone else undercover with him. He was alone this time, and he felt cornered. Even with his long strides, he doubted there’d be enough time for him to make it to the door before you could shout at the top of your lungs. And he didn’t fancy his odds in a shootout. He needs to turn this around, and he needs to do it _fast_.

“If you’re so sure I’m undercover, why haven’t you ratted on me yet?”

He’s careful with how he crafts his words, aware every sentence is caught on tape and could be used against him when he’s back at the station. _If_ he makes it back to the station. He’d heard about guys killed on jobs like this before. Sure, it had been a while since it had happened, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen again.

“Because Mr Officer,” the flirty tone of your voice isn’t lost on him. “I think we might have a common interest.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want Montell behind bars just as bad as you do.”

From the way your lips curl into a cunning smile, the shock must show on his face. He’s beginning to wonder how much you can really just guess from his appearance, or whether you’d been tipped off about his arrival. He can hear the Chief’s advice in his head: _never trust a pretty face and a smile_. He’d been working the Montell Martens case for almost a month now, compiling all the past evidence on the drug dealer from the safety of the CSPD bullpen. He’d had to practically beg the Chief let him to go undercover and investigate him. Been told repeatedly he’d be in over his head, that he wasn’t experienced enough to go solo on an investigation. Only now does he think the Chief might have been right.

“I don’t want anything to do with him and his posse, they’re ruining my business. Customers are scared to come in here for fear of what he’s gonna do to them. I want him outta here.” You admit, keeping your voice low. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”

You can practically see the cogs working in his mind as he processes the new information. His dark eyes analyse every inch of your expression, deciding whether or not to trust you. You didn’t blame him; you could see why it might look like a set up. Maybe you should have been a little lighter on the flirting, but you could barely help yourself. It wasn’t your fault they’d sent such a handsome officer.

“Why would I trust you?”

You sip your drink again then, all while his eyes are on you. The line of your jaw, the definition of your neck, the exposed skin of your chest. Even if you are playing him, leading him on like a lamb to the slaughter, at least you look good doing it.

“Honey, you don’t have a choice.” Your voice is like a song.

He scoffs at your words, because you’re not wrong. He would have to trust you, regardless of what that meant. He looks down at the beer bottle label he’s been peeling at without realising, remnants of the wet paper stuck to his fingers. Judging by the fact Jimmy still hadn’t walked in to give him a way out, he figures he’s on his own for the night. Left to fall victim to his own poor choices. He thinks of the Chief’s face when he inevitably finds out about this, hopes he’s not around to hear the words _I told you so_ come from his lips.

“When you’ve finished your drink, go through that door over there,” you whisper.

He can’t tell whether his heart is hammering because of the nerves, or because you’re leaning close enough that he can smell the sweet hint of your perfume.

“The men’s bathroom is on the left, and there’s a set of stairs on the right. Go up there and I’ll be waiting for you in the room at the end of the hall.”

He’s trying to imprint that information into his brain when he feels your lips brush feather light against his cheek, the shape of your mouth pressed against his skin. The gaze he takes into your deep brown eyes when you pull away from him isn’t long enough for him to determine whether you’d felt as much from that one quick kiss as he had. You weave your way back down the bar to collect empty glasses, serve the two guys at the other end that still don’t seem to pay him any mind. He lifts his beer to his lips, the bottle half-empty in his hand.

You wink at him as you pass, disappearing through the doorway at the other end of the room. It occurs to him then that he’s _really_ alone. The one person he half-trusted out of sight. His mind whirrs at the memory of your lips on his cheek. Had you really meant that, or was it just some ploy in your game? Perhaps that was kind of signal meant to mark him out to the other men in the bar. Maybe you’d been in on this all along. He tries not to dwell on that thought.

He’s unsure the right amount of time to wait to follow you, his nerves growing greater with every passing second. He downs the beer left in his bottle in one, rising to a stand and making his way through the doorway. He can see the door for the men’s bathroom on the left like you said, debates dipping in for a moment, splashing some cold water on his face for a moment of clarity. The thought that he might bump into an unfriendly face wards him off the idea.

Every creak of the staircase beneath him sets his nerves on edge. So much so that by the time he’s reached the top, he’s convinced you’ve set a trap for him. That there’d be men waiting behind the door to beat him black and blue. He can feel the shape of his pistol tucked down the back of his pants, the metal warm from being pressed against his skin for so long. The assurance that he wouldn’t be completely defenceless only soothes him a little. His hand lingers on the door handle, taking a deep breath before he steps inside.

The room’s smaller than he expected, bathed in a deep orange glow from the lamp set up in the corner. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust coming from the dimness of the hall. There’s a plush, ugly patterned carpet underfoot, a few broken chairs from the bar downstairs stacked up against one another in the far corner of the room. There’s a breeze blowing in from the open window on the far wall. He’s grateful for the cool air against his skin.

“Were you expecting someone else?” You smirk, watching how his eyes survey the room, a white-knuckled grip on the door handle.

“I hadn’t ruled it out.” He admits, feeling a sense of relief that you’d at least stayed true to your word up until this point.

He shuts the door behind him, turning to face you then. You’re perched on the edge of an old wooden desk, your long legs crossed over one another, heeled toe pointing at the ground. From where he stands, he can see almost all the way up your thighs. He’s sure you must be able to tell, but from the way you soak up his gaze, you don’t seem to mind.

“Why don’t you come take a seat?” You offer, toe pointing to one of the two green suede chairs in front of the desk you’re perched on.

He gulps. The flirtatious tone of your voice is much more tempting now you’re alone, now he knows there’s nobody else watching. He tries to stop his mind from wandering to what you’re wearing underneath that skirt, how you’d look splayed out on the desk for him, whether anyone would be able to hear your moans from the bathroom downstairs.

“I’ll take my chances by the window.”

You chuckle as he makes his way across the room in a few long strides, stands with his back to you. Jimmy’s car is still parked up outside. He wanders if he can hear him now, if he’d radioed back to the station to tell them he’d had his cover blown.

“Why don’t you start by telling me how you know Mr. Martens.” Flip instructs, his voice sounding more formal now.

“His mom went to church with my mom. I knew of him growing up, but I didn’t really speak to him until I was trying to save up to buy this place. He said he’d loan me some money to help with the costs if I let him use the back room every few weeks.”

“When did this take place?”

“I don’t know, maybe… three years ago?”

“Were you aware of his business when he made you the offer?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I just knew he had money, and I needed some. I figured it was probably something off the books, but I didn’t ask any questions.”

It went against all your natural instincts to rat on Montell like this, to sell out a man who’d helped get you on your feet when you needed it. But you couldn’t picture his face without recalling the blunt force of his knuckles against your cheek when you’d told him you wanted him out of your bar. You’d seen him turn kids as young as sixteen into drug runners, their whole life disappearing before them. You’d even offered him twice as much money to leave, said you were grateful for his help, but you’d seen enough now. After you’d recovered from the shock of his punch, he’d told you he’d break your legs if you ever talked back to him like that again.

“And what’s the nature of your relationship now?”

You watch as Flip stares out of the window, admire his long nose and strong profile. He looks focused, brow nestled tightly above his eyes, arms folded across his barrel chest. Cop or no cop, he was a good-looking man.

“He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It not.” His voice is deadpan as he responds, despite the twinge at the corner of his mouth.

“Shame.” You pout. “He does all his business out of here now; he uses the back room like it’s his 9–5. He meets and recruits new dealers out of here, everyone who’s anyone this side of town knows to come here if they wanna buy some coke. He has a guy drive up from Pueblo every few weeks to resupply.”

He unfolds his arms then, rubs a hand across his goatee, buries the other in his back pocket. This was an even bigger lead than he could have hoped for. If everything you were saying was true, they’d surely have enough to arrest him by the end of the month. If he could get all this information back to the Chief, he’d be back in his good books for sure.

“Would you be willing to come down to the station to make an official statement?” He asks, eyes still on Jimmy’s car, confident he’d be back in the passenger’s seat in the next ten minutes.

“That depends, what’s in it for me?”

He rolls his eyes; he didn’t have time for your games now.

“Come on, you can drop the ac—" his words dry up when he turns to look at you.

He would have been less surprised to turn around and see you pointing a gun to his head than to see you how you are now. With your legs spread wide open on the desk, skirt hitched up around your waist, your panties dangling from one of your ankles. He doesn’t have the strength to peel his eyes away from your most intimate part, the way your folds are parted just so for him. He can feel his mouth begin to water. He gulps. Feels his cheeks begin to grow hot. The crotch of his jeans grow tight, his erection pressing against the denim. The thought of slipping side you was enough to render him speechless.

“Now that we’re done with the business, don’t you think it’s time for a little pleasure?”

He barely even registers the words, because his mind is completely overcome with thoughts of fucking you. Of slamming his now hard cock inside you over and over again until you’re screaming his name, clawing your nails into his back. He can tell from the glint in your eyes that you could handle him at his worst, take every thrust he sent your way and then some. He’s vaguely aware of the wire picking up your every word, of his partner sat in the driver’s seat outside listening to this conversation unfold. The tape would have to be transcribed when they got back to the station, filed with all the other evidence from the case. The thought of your words printed out on paper is enough to shake some sense into him. If only for a moment.

“I… I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He can barely muster the willpower to say the words.

“Why?” There’s a devious smile on your lips as you speak. “You scared you might like it?”

He daren’t take his eyes of you, watches as you keen your hips up for him, your naked lower half basked in the light from the lamp. Even from here, across the room, he can see how your folds glisten for him. How easy it would be to slip right inside you. He lets out a long breath through his nose, tries to calm himself down. He needed a cold shower.

“Officer, I’ve given you everything you wanted… don’t you think it’s time you did the same for me?” You tease, a mock pout on your lips as your hand slips into the nest of tight, dark curls at your centre, fingertips daring to venture into your folds. “It’d be a shame for all your hard work to go to waste…”

You trail your fingers up and down your skin, never quite slipping inside. No. You would save that for him. He has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from moaning, his eyes glued to your fingers, your folds. He thought of himself as a rational man, able to act in the best interests if the case, but right now it was hard for him to think with anything other than his cock.

He wouldn’t have been the first guy at the station to fuck on the job. Hell, some of the other officers had competitions about how many women they could fuck on traffic stops. Bragged about how they’d bent them over the back seat of their own cars, made them ‘work’ their way out of a ticket. The thought of being lumped in with men like that made his stomach churn. But this wasn’t the same, was it? _You_ were coming onto _him_ ; he wasn’t pressuring you to do anything. In fact, he was actively trying to worm his way out of it, betraying the wants of his own body in the process. Surely the recording would show that. And then it hits him.

The recording.

He walks towards you, his strides slow and purposeful. You heart races as he comes to a stop in front of you, his dark eyes looking down over you determinedly. Only now he’s standing so close to you do you realise how big this man really is. His large frame is enough to block out the light from the lamp, bathe your body in his shadow. You have to force your legs open even wider for him to be able to stand between them, his wide hips just about level with yours. You tilt your head up to maintain his eye contact, his chin in line with your forehead as you stare at him.

You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around his big shoulders, hoist yourself up to meet his plump lips and wrap your legs around his waist while he pounded you, but something about his expression tells you to wait. The intensity of his presence stole the breath from your throat, made your pulse quicken in anticipation of what he might do to you. He raises a single finger to his lips, motions for you to keep quiet as he works delicately on his buttons, undoing them until they reveal the black wire taped to his undershirt. When he speaks next, his voice is louder than before, making sure the mic can pick up every word.

“Are you implying you’ll compromise my cover if I don’t fuck you?”

This was the only way he could think to cover his own back, ensure he could argue it was in his best interests to fuck you senseless once he was back at the station. Hearing the word fuck from his mouth only turns you on more, has your pussy clenching around nothing. He looks at you expectantly, hoping you’re picking up what he’s putting down. Your lips pull into a mischievous smile, enjoying the theatrics of the situation.

“That’s right. If you fuck me, I promise I won’t tell anyone who you really are.”

There’s a hint of a grin on his face as he watches the way your lips move as you speak, wondering how they’d look wrapped around his cock. Maybe he’d find out soon.

“And what about the statement?” He presses, determined to cover all the bases before he risked his job to be inside you.

“I’ll only make the statement if you make me come.”

His eyes widen, holding back a laugh at the dirtiness of your words. This recording was sure to raise a few eyebrows once it made it back to the station. Not that he cared. Maybe once the other guys heard this they’d finally stop teasing him about being the rookie. He imagined the looks on their faces when you strolled into the station to make your statement, proof that he was more than capable of handling himself, and you, for that matter.

“Sounds like we got ourselves a deal.”

He doesn’t spare a moment to let you process the smirk on his face or the words from his lips before he’s leaning towards you, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. He pauses just before your lips, waits for you to make up the rest of the distance. And you do, happily. His lips are soft and plump as they wrap around your own, a delicateness you hadn’t expected from him. The hair of his moustache tickles against your skin as he presses another kiss against your mouth, his tongue grazing against your lip, drawing a faint moan from the back of your throat. You feel his lips tug into a smile.

He places his palm gently against your throat, his fingers coming up to rest on either side of your face, pull you even closer to him as he deepens the kiss. His skin feels hot to the touch, or maybe its just you, burning up at the sensation of his skin against yours. You open your mouth to him, let his tongue explore you, taste you, drink you in. Just the taste of you drives him wild, sends him into a frenzy he can’t control. His fingers clutch at your skin as you drag his bottom lip between your teeth, smother his mouth with your own.

By the time he’s trailing a hand up your thigh, he’s forgotten all about the wire strapped to his chest, abandoned all thought that doesn’t involve being inside you _now_. Your moans are muffled against his mouth as his fingers finally reach your entrance, trail ever so gently against your slick folds. He lets out a deep groan against your mouth before he pulls your face away from him, watches your expression as he slides his finger inside you.

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” he sighs, because you’re warm and so so wet around him, enough that he could slide his cock inside you right now if he wanted to.

But he doesn’t want to. At least not yet. He’s enjoying the way your face looks too much as he fingers you, the way your breath picks up as you lick your lips, the soft whines from your mouth as rock your hips against him, desperate to get him deeper inside you. He could keep the sight of you like that in his mind forever, maybe he would, jerk off to it when this moment was nothing but a fond memory.

His lips press into your neck as he begins to circle your clit with his thumb, two fingers curling inside you simultaneously. You writhe beneath him on the desk, fist your hands into the fabric of his shirt as you feel your orgasm building. You’d guessed from the way he looked that he had a way with women, but never something like _this_. You can barely keep your eyes open, focused on the feeling that’s building with your core, the warmth of his ragged breaths against your neck. Only when you begin to moan and pant for him to fuck you does he remember the wire. If he weren’t so worked up, maybe he’d have been embarrassed, but he isn’t. He’s proud. Hell, maybe he’d keep a copy of the tape when this was all over.

The withdrawal of his fingers from inside you cuts off your moans, your eyes snapping open to glare at him for leaving you on the edge like that. Your gaze softens when you see him undoing the remaining buttons of his black plaid shirt, peeling the fabric off his shoulders. His muscled form is only accentuated by his white undershirt, every aspect of his torso defined and in full view. The desire in your eyes as they pour over him only affirms his sense of pride as he rips the wire from his chest, removes the receiver from his jean pocket along with his pistol, wraps them in his discarded shirt and stuffs it into the drawer beneath you on the desk. He shuts it back firmly.

“Now that’s out of the way,” his fingers work at unbuckling his belt, his dark eyes fixed on you. “Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to work?”

He doesn’t need to ask twice, because you drop to your knees in the dimness of the small room, helping pull his jeans down as he turns to rest his back on the desk. It’s the first time you haven’t talked back all night. There’s a small patch of precum soaked through the fabric of his boxers, but you pay it no mind as you tug them down hastily, eager to see what he had in store for you. He chuckles at your shocked expression as he frees his erection from his boxers, lets it hang just centimetres in front of your lips. You knew he had to be big from the way he carried himself, but this was… something else entirely.

“Not so loud now, are you?” He teases, knotting his hand into the hair at the back of your neck, easing you toward him.

You choose to keep quiet, knowing he’d be the one struggling for words once you had your way with him. He lets out a long moan as you train your tongue up his shaft, take his head between your lips and get to work. You can taste the hint of his precum against your tongue as you swirl it around him, feel his hand knot tighter in your hair as you work your hand around his base. Every moan from your mouth sends a vibration down his shaft that brings him closer to the edge, makes his thick brows pull together above his eyes. Sure, he was big, but you weren’t one to shy away from a challenge, and so you take him deeper and deeper into your mouth as you go, hearing the way he starts to mumble from above you.

“Just like that…. _fuck_ , that’s it—" his curses trail off into something close to a yelp as he feels the head of his cock reach the back of your throat, your nose brushing the mound of hair on his torso.

The feel of his length submerged fully in the warmth of your mouth is enough to send shivers down his spine, make his toes curl in his boots. He’s grateful he finally got the chance to see what you look like with his cock in your mouth, because my _god_ do you look good. The way your thick lips wrap around him, the faint hint of your lipstick long gone now. A few of your curls fall over your face, and he’s careful to bunch them up with his fist, keep them from obscuring what is surely the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your eyes are brimming with tears from taking him so deep, but you don’t seem to care, taking him all the way again and again until he can hear the gagging noise coming from the back of your throat.

You’re doing such a good job on him it pains him to pry you away from his cock, lift you up from your kneeled position and force you back against the desk. He scrambles to free you of your skirt, yank it down over your long legs and toss it to the ground. You lift yourself back up onto the desk, spread your legs and lean back on your elbows as you watch him line himself up with you. The two of you moan in unison as he rubs the head along your folds, eases inside you in one, long, smooth motion. You can feel every vein along his shaft as he presses deeper into you, stretches your walls to make way for him.

“You’re so _fucking_ big,” you hiss as his hips meet yours.

His hands clasp firm around your thighs, hold you in place as he rocks his hips into you slowly, breathes heavily above you. Each connection of his hips to yours forces a soft moan from your mouth, pushes all the air straight out of your lungs.

“You like my cock, huh?” He pants.

His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it, seeming to speak straight to your pussy as you clench around him.

“ _Yesyesyes_ —"

Your mind is a blur with pleasure, empty of anything besides the sensation of him inside you. The wood of the desk creaks as he finds his rhythm, fucks into you fast enough that all your moans seem to blur into one. He was barely a few strokes in and you could already feel your orgasm growing close. He’d definitely be getting a statement out of you when this was over. He palms at your top, desperately tries to strip you off it, free your tits from your bra. You slide the straps off your shoulders, pull it down to settle around your waist, casting your bra off carelessly.

“Oh fuck yeah,” he grunts, watching how they bounce with each motion of his hips.

He massages your nipples between his fingers gently, a harsh contrast to the ferocity of his thrusts. Your arms give out from beneath you, your back flat against the desk now, the whole structure wobbling with the force of his hips. Your dark hair is fanned out around you on the wood, eyes closed head tipped to the sky. He can’t decide what he likes looking at more, your face as you take him, or his cock disappearing into you over and over again, your juices smeared all along his shaft. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this worked up, too focused on work on the past few months to worry about pleasure. But boy, is he making up for it now.

He reaches a hand down to your pussy, rubs small, slow circles against your clit with the bud of his finger. Just the feel of it is enough to have your eyes snapping open, brows crumpled above them as he works on you. There’s a smug grin on his face as he watches you writhe beneath him, struggle to take the pleasure of it all. His fingers speed up against you, work on your most intimate part until your orgasm is bursting out of you before you can think to warn him. You arch your back up off the wood as the sensation erupts from your core, your body tensing as the pleasure courses through your veins. He fucks you all the way through it, thighs shaking around his hips. You clench so tight around him he almost finishes right with you, but just about manages to control himself, determined to hold off for as long as possible. You ease back down against the desk, chest heaving with your breaths, an exasperated smile across your lips.

“Come here.” His voice is breathy as he orders you, hand clasped around your jaw.

You barely muster the strength to pull yourself off the desk and lean up towards him. When you do, he meets your lips softly, tangles you in a passionate kiss that’s enough to make you feel dizzy. He cradles your head in his hand while his lips work wonders on you, make you sigh with pleasure against his mouth. His hips roll slowly against yours, easing his length in and out of you in long, slow strokes as your pussy throbs around him. He groans against your mouth as you wrap your legs around him, anchor him inside you as your fingers tangle into his hair. It’s soft and silky between your fingertips, and you can’t help thinking you’d snitch on every criminal you knew if it meant you could have him like this again.

A small yelp of surprise slips past your lips as he hoists you off the desk, hands firm on your ass as he carries you a few steps across the room, sandwiching your body between his and the wall. He breaks the kiss only for a moment to hook your legs over his arms, pin your knees up against either side of your chest. You can’t take your eyes off the way his muscles bulge, holding you in mid-air with ease. You weren’t sure if you’d ever considered yourself petite, but the way he’d scooped you up without complaint sure made you feel it. Not to mention the way he towered over you, his muscled body seeming impossibly large now it was pressed right up against you. You didn’t mind though, in fact, you welcomed it.

You can feel every vein and ridge of his cock as he slides inside you again, pressing into you at an agonisingly slow pace. He’s able to reach even deeper inside you from this angle, his shaft hitting depths you didn’t even know you had. Your toes curl as you bite down on your lip, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten yet again.

“God, you’re so _tight_ for me baby,” he groans, face buried in your neck now, teasing your skin between his teeth.

It occurs to him then he didn’t even know your name. He was balls deep inside you, and he hadn’t even stopped to ask you your damn name. He wasn’t sure when he’d become the type of man to fuck first and ask questions later, but he doesn’t get a chance to dwell on it as you dig your fingernails into his shoulders, moan into his ear for him to fuck you harder. He follows your command, thrusts into you mercilessly, each connection of his hips with yours stealing the breath from your throat. You knew your hips would ache like a bitch in the morning, but it would be worth it just to have him like this.

His nose grazes along your cheek as he rests his forehead against yours, feels your exasperated breaths against his lips as he pleasures you. His dark eyes blur into one as they stare at you, try and focus on something other than the orgasm he’s so desperately trying to hold off. You suck, nip and lick at his plump lips, taste the faint trace of beer still on his tongue. You can tell he must be close from the way he twitches and jerks inside you, the way his hands grip at your skin tightly, his thrusts beginning to grow erratic.

“Gonna make me come all over you,” he’s muttering now, words falling from his mouth faster than he can think to stop them.

“ _Please_ ,” you whine, because you’re not too good to beg, at least not now. “Please, I need you to, _shit_ —"

The sweat from his chest is beginning to soak through his undershirt as he goes into overdrive, his hips clapping against yours so fast it’s practically an applause. You can only bury your head in his neck as he urges you towards another orgasm, hands balling fists in his hair. There’s a string of curse words coming from his mouth but you barely hear them, focused only on your own pleasure in the moment. Your moans cut off into silence as the sensation washes over you, spreading out from your core until every nerve in your body is alive with the feeling of it.

He’s only a moment behind you, the clench of your walls around him dragging the orgasm out of him. His garbled moan is stifled by your neck as he explodes inside you, his shaft buried to the hilt inside your warmth as he finishes. He feels every ounce of stress leave his body, his muscles relaxing for what feels like the first time since he was promoted to detective. His legs almost give out beneath him at the force of his finish, and he’s quick to tighten his grip on you to keep the two of you upright. Your chests heave against one another as he clutches you, his head slack against your shoulder now, warm breaths falling over your exposed tits.

His legs are like jelly as he carries you to one of the chairs, collapsing into it with you still on top of him. You let your head fall against his chest, truly exhausted from your endeavour. His hands fall absent-mindedly to your ass, cup it gently as you sit atop him. Your combined heavy breaths are the only sound to fill the room for a long time before he lifts his head, looks at you with a weary smile.

“So I uh… guess you won’t be tellin’ anyone who I really am any time soon?”

You laugh breathily, hands on his shoulders so you can lean up and look at his face. He’s bathed in sweat, a distinct crimson flush to his nose and cheeks that gives him a boyish glow. You see now that he couldn’t be more than a few years older than you, despite the maturity you might have previously assumed. He looks relaxed for the first time since you’d seen him earlier that night. Maybe all he’d needed all along was a good fuck to clear his head.

“Your secret is safe with me.” You smile.

He takes his time gathering his things, fitting the mic back onto his shirt and slotting his pistol back into his jeans before he plants a passionate kiss against your lips, his palm soft against your cheek. There’s a confident, relaxed nature to his movements as he makes his way down the stairs, across the bar and out the front door. He doesn’t look as he crosses the street to settle into the passenger seat of Jimmy’s Nova, closing the door shut behind him.

“Well,” Jimmy’s amused voice cuts through the air. “Is she going to make that statement?”

Flip meets his eyes, lips quivering to keep from smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“Oh yeah, in fact, I think she might make a few.”

They laugh together as Jimmy starts the ignition, clapping a hand on the younger man’s back to congratulate him on his endeavour. The whole ride back to the station Flip can’t help but smile, his mind racing at the thought of seeing you again. He had just the right interrogation room in mind to give you some well needed _privacy_ for your statement.


End file.
